


Siren's Call

by supercalifragilistichespiralidoso



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge! Fusion, Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Romance, Slavery, Slow Burn, if it makes sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21888040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercalifragilistichespiralidoso/pseuds/supercalifragilistichespiralidoso
Summary: 25-year-old Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi meets 20-year-old slave Anakin Skywalker during a mission and manages to spit on the Jedi teachings in the span of four days.Or, TPM meets Moulin Rouge.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 25
Kudos: 153





	1. Lift up the receiver I'll make you a believer

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Personal Jesus - Depeche Mode

**I**

**Lift up the receiver I'll make you a believer**

It's the last hours of daylights when they land on the desert planet, the two twin suns close to disappear behind the line of horizon. Captain Panaka wants to make it clear that Tatooine is not an ideal place for a Queen - who knows what could happen to her on a planet run by swindlers and slavers - but instructs his men to evaluate the extent of the damage sustained during the attack from Federation battleships all the same. It takes them just a handful of minutes to know that a new hyperdrive generator is needed, and even less for Qui-Gon to state that time is not be wasted, hence he and his apprentice will venture to the city of Mos Espa immediately in search of the required parts. 

Obi-Wan doesn't argue with the order, but is slightly anxious at the prospect of leaving the Queen, if not defenceless, without any Jedi supervision, in the middle of nowhere and this close to night hours. There's no disturbance in the Force and the scenery around them seems as desolate and serene as it can possibly be - most likely it's just his worrying nature kicking in, but it would be better to return quickly anyway. 

The ship landed at outskirts of the city, so the trek through seemingly endless, plain dunes of sand isn't a long one and soon gives way to a crowded spaceport of domed buildings, verandas at each stalls, beings in every shape, race and size. Every surface is covered with a thick layer of sand - even air is loaded with it and surely Obi-Wan can already feel the first grains collect in his hair and in the folds of his outer tunics, though these are hidden under the necessary, grey poncho he's wearing in stead of the usual dark cloak. 

His Master has defined Mos Espa as a haven for those who do not wish to be found and it's easy to understand why taking in the abuzz atmosphere of the large streets: an assortment of beings, creatures and droids so varied and luckily indifferent to newcomers, except for some unfriendly stare here and there, that doesn't pay much attention to their small, unique group, consisting of two Jedi in disguise, a young girl who's one of the handmaidens of a queen, a Gungan, and an astromech - there's the real chance that on any other planet they would have already faced unwanted troubles. Obi-Wan is not superstitious, for this kind of thing is not the Jedi way, but takes his mind off eventual problems to not jinx it regardless. 

Qui-Gon suggests to start with smaller dealers and not much later they conveniently find a whole plaza of junk shops, most of which though are already closing for the day. The first two attempts are fruitless, but a quick check at a third shop reveals that, among the pile of old transports and engine parts, what they need is actually available; the human female informs them that she's not allowed to make any selling without her owner's approval - at Qui-Gon's insistence, the woman simply gives them the name of a local cantina where they can find said owner, a Toydarian named Watto, and speak directly with him. 

The unsettling feeling provoked by the guarded expression on the woman's face doesn't really leave Obi-Wan but takes a seat back at the sight of the cantina in question - it's in a different section of the city, so when they arrive it's completely dark and the smoldering heat of the day has subsided in favour of a subtle, chilly breeze that makes breathing far more easier and sweating in unsuited clothing not an issue anymore. The building is domed and thick-walled like the rest, but this is remarkably taller than the ones surrounding it, perhaps even the tallest in town, better lit, and it's obvious the effort of keeping it relatively sand-free. Aware of the notion of luxury typical of Coruscant or other Core World and some mid-Rim planets, Obi-Wan can't say that the place before his eyes is either stylish or elegant, but here on Tatooine it must certainly be, with its suns-faded curtains obscuring the interior and the imposing, guarded doors. 

"Don't wander off" Qui-Gon orders to Jar Jar and the R2 unit, when the Rodian at the entrance eyes the five of them with a curious gaze. Obi-Wan is sure that the decision of leaving them oustide, though, has nothing to do with the doorman, but rather with Jar Jar's clumsiness and the necessity of having someone or something to look after him, therefore R2-D2 staying behind. Both the Gungan's protests and the droid furious beeping are suppressed with a patient, reiterated order. 

The light throb barely detectable from outside becomes a full-blown earthquake of upbeat notes, loud laughters and dull tramping resonating rhythmically in every single bone of Obi-Wan's body when the trio finally goes through the doors - they open up to a crowded room, bathed in warm, bright hues from the low ceiling carpeted with lights; a bar on a side and a band playing in other, at the far end is a wide, circular stage, well visible even from the farthest corners, where dancers clad in revealing outfits move in a pliant and suggestive way, bending towards the ecstatic audience with flirtatious smiles only to pull back at the last moment. 

"Stay close to me" advices Qui-Gon to Padmé, the handmaiden, before exchanging a quick look with Obi-Wan, who doesn't need words to understand that he has to keep eyes and ears open, as well as his connection to the Force to sense incoming troubles. 

Although the place is full of beings - surely way over the standard limits for security if they were in Republic area - it shouldn't be too difficult to find this Watto since he's the owner of the fine establishment; Obi-Wan can almost imagine the unknown Toydarian, tiny wings buzzing frantically, counting his money in a small niche in the wall where he can also oversee the whole venue. The sensible route, and the one they go for, is asking a bartender or a waiter. Lights and music, though, go out suddenly as they reach the bar, throwing the entire room into the darkness; it must be an ordinary occurrence because instead of shattered glass on the floor or a panicked frenzy, the only sound is provided by a low, excited buzz among people, with a sporadic whistle. 

For Obi-Wan the waiting - because they are waiting most surely for some other dancer - is breathtaking. The Force in whoever is about to come up on stage, or maybe already there hidden under the cloak of darkness, is so strong that it's almost like being hit in the middle of the chest. "Master" he whispers, gripping the hem of his outer tunic in support and trying to not let out nothing more than surprise in the tone. 

To his right, over the head of Padmé, Qui-Gon hums. "I can feel it, too, Padawan" he says and it's not that reassuring the awed incredulity that even a more experienced Jedi Master like him is sporting both in voice and his own Force Signature. 

For the first few moments after the lights switch on gradually and the band starts to play a sweet melody, the only things going on in Obi-Wan's mind is how they could not notice someone as glowing in the Force immediately upon entering, or even from their ship, and more importantly what a unique opportunity the Jedi have lost. Then he gives a good look at him - it's a human male, probably not much younger than himself - and all thoughts of Jedi frighteningly vanish from his head. He's tall and broad shouldered, but limber enough to move gracefully across the stage with such captivating ease and confidence to send the whole crowd in a cheering fit, in spite of having only reached the middle of the podium. Exposed parts of his skin are quite tanned, almost golden, and his longish, blond hair are fairer in some places, consequences probably of being born on a desert planet; a strong jaw and bright eyes that even from distance are strikingly blue. His lazy movements seem almost arrogant, and the grin on the lips borders on irriverence - it's clear that he knows to be attractive and that people find him immensely so, and this is a dangerous combination, made even more lethal for that sense of boyish innocence that his movements betray from time to time. Not that anything in the way he gets on all four or the tight, leather pants and stripes inspire much candor. 

"Don't lose sight of him while we search for the Toydarian."

Obi-Wan vaguely registers his Master's voice and makes just a distracted, affermitive sound in response, doing exactly what he's been told. _Not a problem_ , his addled brain supplies in a traitorous whisper that leaves him even more confused, and slightly ashamed. It's not against any Order rule to think that someone is good-looking - it's a prerogative of most living beings, those who aspire to be Knights even - but a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach hints at something else that he is not willing to investigate at the moment, not in a room smelling like alcohol and arousal. 

The boy jumps from the stage and lands with elegance near the front-row tables, then moves through them with deliberate, slow steps and strokes arms and cheeks in his path; no one dares to touch him, just mesmerized stares, almost obtrusive in their persistence - if he minds them, it doesn't show on face and the Force around him feels calm, if not bored in some way, like he's the looking down on all of them with pity and ridicule. Again, the insolent smirk should be unappealing but it's the opposite and the moaning mess of the Togruta he's just straddled is the proof.

Standing up and then reprising his walk through the audience, like a dangerous hunter sourrounded by helpless preys, he smiles and addresses people, murmuring something that Obi-Wan can't understand for the life of him and not just because it's in a foreign language, but because, with the dancer somewhat nearer his spot, all he can feel is his encompassing presence in the Force, tuning out everything else. 

He locks eyes with Obi-Wan for a moment, sparkling blue orbs that makes the Jedi feel like lost at sea, helpless against the intensity of the stare. The young man cocks his head, a teasing smile promising nothing and everything good that this galaxy has to give, a silent offering of pleasure reflected in the invisible line traced by a finger lazily wandering from shoulder to collarbone; in some other place and time, with other people, Obi-Wan would batt that hand away from his body, whereas now it's just a weak, distant thought leaving his mind even before being fully formed.  
Then the dancer moves away from him and _thank the Force_ , Obi-Wan thinks, realising the heat pooled on his cheeks and swallowing around the lump in his throat, eyes never severing that connection established at first sight with the hypnotic hips, the toned thighs covered in black leather, the perfect shape of his backside. 

Music ends and the man doesn't linger a second longer, climbing back to the stage and disappearing without a spare look to his adoring audience or recognition for the thundering applause that accompanies his exit, resembling a threatening dark angel on a mission. 

Obi-Wan is mind-blown. Completely. In a i-need-a-drink type of mind-blown. So much, in fact, that it takes a handful of seconds before realising that the source of his bewilderment isn't going to come back any time soon, or at all for the night, and that he is supposed to keep an eye on him. Wondering for the first time the purpose of Qui-Gon's request, Obi-Wan sets to follow the glowing beacon that is this Anakin, as few voices, both male and female, are still chanting like a song. It's not like the boy is anywhere near the age-limit to be trained, overwhelmingly powerful or not - actually, it's rather likely that he's not even aware of his abilities as Force-user, consciously if nothing else, because one cannot simply believe that such astonishing power has not manifested itself in tangible manners. 

Making his way through the crowd without being noticed is relatively easy, especially since the arrival of three new dancers on the podium stealing the attention from everything else happening in the room; things get more challenging when he has to venture backstage, where at least nine different performers are either getting ready for their turn or peeling off colorful feathers and the like from the skin; and that's without taking into account the three mountain-size bodyguards who keep watch over a door that leads to the upstairs rooms and that is conveniently the one Obi-Wan needs to go through. Silencing his inner voice telling that mind-tricks are to be used carefully and wisely, he manages to overcome the three more pressing obstacles without breaking a sweat. After that finding the right room is even easier. He knocks, thinking belatedly that he doesn't know what to say. 

An answer arrives moments later - an invitation to enter. 

The room is barely lit and airy, emanating a relaxing sense of tranquillity, a stark contrast with the bright, suffocating, chaotic one downstairs. Window wide open and curtains billowing in gentle waves, a bed covered in pillows on one side and a rack full of clothes on the other, there's almost an eerie atmosphere, helped by the fact the for now the boy is just a dark silhouette against the soft light of the moon.

"Hello" Obi-Wan says in a bad Huttese, one of the few words he knows of the language. Now that he has to speak, mind still totally blank, he realises how dry his throat is. 

A thin shadow moves from the window towards him at a slow pace, like he's just casually walking through the streets, alone, in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan must have interrupted him while getting undressed, because the boy's not wearing any shirt and the fly of his leather pants is open. He doesn't know that it says about him and the situation in general that the the latter is the first thing he notices. 

The young man - Anakin, his mind supplies again - stops closer than expected, staring, sweeping up and down Obi-Wan's body with that lopsided grin that must be a trademark of his at this point. Obi-Wan feels suddenly out of place - more out of place than before, that is - in this room, ugly poncho and all, a traitorous blush creeping up his neck for whatever reason. "Hello to you" the other almost purrs, in basic. 

His istinct tells him that now is not the right time, but this close Obi-Wan can't help pointing out, in the secrecy of his brain, that Anakin is even more beautiful, taking in all the minor details that distance and the heat of the moment made him overlook - long eyelashes, full lips, the messy texture of blond curls, addicting smell. He feels short-winded at the realisation, which doesn't contribute in his favour with the blushing. 

"Would you like to dance?" Anakin says out of the blue, catching Obi-Wan's hand, quick as lightning, and pulling him closer before the Padawan has the chance to even think a refusal. And just like that the gap between their bodies reduces drastically, to the point that Obi-Wan can feel warm puffs hitting his right cheek. 

The information that Anakin is slightly taller than him would be far more bothersome if not for the warm hand that presses against his bicep, caressing and squeezing and inducing a low hum of appreciation that shouldn't bring him as much gratfication as it actually does, but it's a notion so distant right now, just like the nuisance for being shorter, that Obi-Wan can't honestly recall the reason. 

There's no real music in the room, just the light thrum coming from downstairs - it doesn't seem to remotely faze Anakin, who tries to meet the eyes in front of him with unfaltering determination, tilting his head from one side to another, leaning in dangerously closer if that's even possible. "Relax" he whispers against the ear, perfectly shaven cheek brushing Obi-Wan's, breath ghosting down the neck as he lingers there more than necessary. "Like this" he adds, patient, but Obi-Wan is shamely conscious of not having moved a single limb, muscle, or vocal cords truth to be told, so he doesn't know what caused that sense of satisfaction in the boy. Then Anakin grabs his other limp hand and puts both on his own swaying, naked hips, and everything gets clear and humiliating at a new level, like he's a clumsy youngling all over again needing guidance during 'sabre lessons. 

Only now Obi-Wan pays the due attention to the fact that Anakin is shirtless - skin is hot and smooth, and muscles incredibly toned under his fingers. A vicious, hazy thought hopes that his hands are producing the same effect on the man's flesh as the light touch caressing his torso has on him even through layers of clothing - a trail of warm pinprick that doesn't really leave him shivering but enough to give goosebumps. 

Then one of Anakin's legs gets between Obi-Wan's, their hips connects completely and reality comes crushing down with the violence of an enraged rancor. _What in the Force am I doing?_ As if being electrocuted, arms goes limp at his sides again, the ones touching him reluctantly leave his body after a solid attempt at staying where they are, and head spinning, Obi-Wan takes a step back - hopefully in a dignified way and not the staggering that he suspects - hitting the door, shoulders and palms flat against it. Not even remembering when or if he has closed it and refusing to acknowledge the sensation of being caged, he moves away and goes towards the window, saying: "Stop" with a loud voice and then murmuring it at least another three times under his breath to give his brain time to catch up. 

What is happening? What is he doing? Yes, Anakin is a very beautiful man and has incredible hands apparently, but that's it, there's no reason for Obi-Wan to feel like the ground is missing under his feet or the brain floating useless in a mushy puddle. He is a Jedi, for Force's sake! Soon will face the Trials and be ranked a Knight. 

Ignoring the pang of unease at the thought, he focuses instead on his task, the one he has entirely forgotten for a few minutes. 

"You seem nervous" says the boy, who'd really do Obi-Wan a huge favour if he stopped smirking like that, while makes his way to a hidden table with a selection of bottles, near the racks. "A drink to loosen up a bit?" he asks, tone poised like he's parroting a script or more than likely himself from similar experiences. 

Obi-Wan, who's been in need of a drink for some time now, declines with a heavy heart because he doesn't dare to imagine what would happen to his praised self-control that today seems faulty at best. "We need to discuss something" he says after clearing his throat twice. 

Actually his only instructions are to never lose sight of him, which he's taking literally it seems, so doesn't know if it's in Qui-Gon's intentions to tell him about the Force or what incredible mystery and rarety he is, but Obi-Wan has to do something, needs to focus on something else that has nothing to do with attractiveness or bare skin or sparkling eyes. 

A hint of impatience seems to pass over the boy's face but is replaced so quickly with the default teasing expression that maybe it's never been there in the first place. "Let's get comfortable, then" he says and climbes on the bed, making sure to have his bottom in display while doing so; then lies down, sprawled on his back, hips stinking out in a suggestive way and raised chin to either have a better vision of Obi-Wan or in challenge to join him.

Feeling his mouth go drier than the surface of this blasted planet, Obi-Wan temporary reconsiders the offer of liquor and wonders why the Force is trying out so much his presence of mind and, above all, his willingness to abide by the Code. Again, it's confusing because a Jedi is a living being and therefore can have physical impulses that need to be taken care of and it's not like Obi-Wan himself has never felt or pursued these baser urges, but he feels that in this case would be a grave mistake. Not just because his Master assigned him a job and they are on a mission - it's also a feeling and he's learned to trust his gut when his mind is in shambles. That's why he is not gonna touch that bed with a ten foot pole. 

"I'd like to test your blood for a midi-chlorian count" he says, instead, keeping his feet planted in that exact point and cringing inside for the way he phrased the request. For all that the Masters often compliment him for his rhetorical skills, he's doing an unprecedented, poor job of putting it into practice, what with the sudden mutism and this last insensitive example. 

The young man shifts on the side facing Obi-Wan, elbow supporting the weight of his upper body, while fingers tap on the thigh almost fidgety. "Don't worry, gorgeous, no diseases."

There are several terrible implications in one short phrase, of which the compliment is the least scandalous - of course Obi-Wan has realised the purpose of Anakin's actions, he's not oblivious, but he's also never been hit on, in absence of a better term, in such an explicit way, and the fact that not once Anakin's questioned another person's presence in his room, but just went with it and tried to seduce him, indicates that it's not the first time he finds in an analogous circumstance, confirming Obi-Wan's doubts about the hypothetical script: the possibility of him being a slave is not unlikely. 

The last thought sobers him up partially. "That's not what they are for" Obi-Wan points out, feeling less self-conscious talking about familiar arguments. "Midi-chlorians are microscopic life forms that live symbiotically inside the cells of all living things and what are you doing?" he interrupts himself when the boy scrambles to his feet and, approaching Obi-Wan, who outright refuses to be backed into the wall again and therefore remains unmoved, starts circling him very, very close. 

"I'm listening" Anakin answers from behind, a light undertone of amusement in the voice. For a bizzare reason, which can be traced back perhaps to some virus or bacteria or whatever that Obi-Wan must have contracted between landing and now, this seems to be far more dangerous than any other seduction technique, especially if aided by the light brushes to shoulders and neck and ear. "I like this" he comments, taking the braid between his fingers, smiling. 

Now Obi-Wan knows he's lying. There's nothing flattering in the Padawan cut for human males - one of the reasons why he's awaiting the day he will be finally a Knight is to grow it out - but he bats the other's hand away regardless.

  
Before he can resume the argument of midi-chlorians, Anakin stops in front of him, tilts his head on one side and puts up a contemplative expression, blue eyes mischievously in search of something on Obi-Wan's face. "You don't strike me as someone shy" he says, sure to the point of smug, even though they've not been in the same room together enough time to justify the confidence, "maybe just in need a little push."

  
Obi-Wan sighs. "Look" he starts, failing to suppress the feeling that something is about to happen, like they're at a turning point already in their brief acquaintance and he's powerless against it, "I think you got the situation completely wrong" says, succeeding in keeping his voice as flat as possible to not give away the mixture of reluctant excitement and controlled panic that is raging in his stomach.

  
"Or maybe you like playing hard to get" the younger man offers.

  
The kiss, when it happens, is not to silence Obi-Wan's protest. No, Anakin telegraphs his movements so much, eyeing lips and licking his own before leaning in, that would be impossible to not realise that he's going to do it and purposefully gives Obi-Wan enough time to dodge his attempt, without the slight inkling of offence afterwards for being rejected. "Usually I'm more patient" he whispers against the cheek, breathing through his nose, words alluding to a semblance of excuse not reflected in the voice.

  
The kiss happens because Obi-Wan discovers himself to be disappointed when Anakin doesn't try again, because all the valid reasons advising against it apparently aren't enough, and because he wants it so badly that the prospect of not going along with it is downright depressing.

  
So he does it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Sex on Fire - Kings of Leon

**II**

  
**But it's not forever but it's just tonight**

Anakin's mouth, as he discorvers within the first few moments, lives up to expectations. His red, full lips are as soft and ripe as he has suspected just watching them, pressing against his own with a petty, charming smugness mirroring in the Force so relentlessly that Obi-Wan feels his head spinning already and can't bring himself to care. What he did not foresee, understandably considering the audacity shown until then, is the gentle approach: instead of hungry kisses, tender brushes that are almost tickling in their softness, teasing pecks that now are just breathy caresses and then playful nibbles, lips stroking in a lazy rhythm, hot and sweet. 

  
Through the nebulous cloud that has taken residence in his brain ever since he's laid eyes on the younger man against his mouth and that it's only getting worse by the second, Obi-Wan reclaims victory for still being able to come up with a couple of thoughts about himself, Anakin and the situation in general: he can't remember the last time he's ever felt so turned on because of one simple, innocent kiss in his whole life, one capable of knotting his spine all along its length and making his stomach twist without any effort, for which of course he has only the recent, intentional celibacy to blame, but it would be such a disrespect of Anakin's abilities and his contribution that it's not acceptable because it couldn't be more obvious that, even though Obi-Wan initiated the kiss, he's not the one leading but Anakin, and maybe this has always been his plan - lean in for a kiss, be rejected, give Obi-Wan the illusion of a choice, wait for the inevitable to happen; in any case there's no immediate reason to stop and the previous hung-ups have gone out of the window together with his composure. 

  
Warm hands, that he has not realised were cradling his face before, start to slid, lingering on the neck where a thumb draws invisible patterns under his ear and Obi-Wan thinks that he could relearn to breathe like this given enough time - the other hand continues the slow descent down his arm till the waist, leaving him to shiver and whimper under his breath.

  
Both pairs of lips part simultaneously and tongues connect somewhere between their mouths, pushing against each other languidly, under any pressure to be in a hurry. A wave of rolling heat washes through Obi-Wan, solid and thick, starting with toes and moving upwards to stomach and chest, sparing nothing in the middle. 

  
Obi-Wan sinks into the new, deeper kiss with resigned desire, drawn like moths to flames. This time he doesn't wait for Anakin to grab his hands and show him what to do with them; lightheaded and feeling bolder than during the impromptu dancing, if one can call it that, he tangles his fingers in blond messy hair and strokes the scalp in slow, soft circles, earning a series of increasingly distracting noises. 

  
Anakin pulls away - Obi-Wan is struck suddenly with the need of air, the only thing stopping him from leaning in and capturing the other's lips again with his own - just to attack Obi-Wan's jawline first and neck later with open-mouthed kisses, licking and tasting, biting the spot where neck meets shoulder, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. 

  
When Anakin starts to fumble with the hem of the poncho, somewhere in the back of his head, the place where for the moment is stored everything else not immediately related to what is happening, Obi-Wan is reciting the Code because a part of him is still conscious of the fact that he should stop, that there's still time, but another part is too eager to not go down the current route, skimming through the _there's no passion_ line without further thought, like it's never been there. It's okay to want this, he tells himself repeatedly, _you're only human, even Qui-Gon tells you to not be so restrained all the time - pretty sure that's not what Master has in mind though_. 

  
Obi-Wan realises that he's pressed against a wall all over again only when his undressing - just the poncho, nothing else, and it's getting hot anyway - is prevented by a resistance of some kind. Arching his back to set the piece of clothing free proves to be worst decision of the night because it brings his hips to meet Anakin's and the front of his open pants and the bulge there, grinding almost involuntarily. Knees not going weak just thanks to years of endured physical training and ears ringing, Obi-Wan can feel only his unrelenting desire, an aching thobb between his legs, and the dissolution of his will. The world seems to turn a bit whiter behind his eyelids, so as a soon as the poncho is out of the way he presses their mouths together again and hides the indecent moan in the kiss, not ready to hear it untamed in full capacity. 

  
Anakin instead lets out a frustrated sound probably due to the discovery that there are other multiple layers of clothes keeping his hands from touching skin. "Will I ever find you under all these?" he murmurs, breath slightly ragged. 

  
Obi-Wan just chuckles, but pushes Anakin's hands away from the lapel of the outer tunic and hopefully distracts him with his own touch on the small of his back wrapping his arms tighter around the body, legs straddling each other and pushing in all the right places. He doesn't know what he wants to accomplish this way - it looks like there's only one plausible finale for this story. 

  
Anakin retaliates by letting his now free palms wander along the Padawan's sides and downwards, except only one hand reaches the destination he seems to have in mind, namely thighs, while the other gets stuck and then grabs something else that Obi-Wan identifies with his lightsaber only when the kiss is broken abruptly. 

  
The boy's confusion in the Force is palpable and expressed on face with a puzzled frown that Obi-Wan can't help to label as adorable. It takes a couple of seconds for the other to find the words. "Is this a lightsaber? Are you a Jedi?" he asks, looking down in the direction of the weapon with a combination in equal parts of awe, horror and thrill. 

  
Obi-Wan briefly reflects on the fact the most beings are quick to associate a lightsaber with the figure of a Jedi without stopping to consider that it's not as simple because any Jedi, though they must be inexcusably careless, can lose the weapon or be killed and have it taken from them. 

  
Before he can point out that it's what he's tried and failed to make him understand, admittedly in a wrong way, Anakin gives a relieved, hearty chuckle like the possibility of having a Jedi in his room would be quite hilarious. "You can't be a Jedi! You are the Duke" he says, attempting to resume their previous activities, lightsaber apparently forgotten. 

  
Dodging the new onslaught, it's Obi-Wan's turn to be confused. "Who?" he asks.

  
Anakin blinks. "The Duke" he replies as it should be obvious, which in his mind surely must be. Even though he seems determined to believe in his words, it's evident that his conviction starts to crumble when he doesn't see his words meet recognition, making his smile slowly disappear for the first time that night. "The Duke" he says again as if he repeats it enough times then it will be true. "The big shot investing in this place and..." he trails off, swallowing, widening his eyes in understanding or horror or something else incomprehensible. 

  
"I don't know who this Duke is but it's not me" Obi-Wan says, surprising himself with his nonplussed tone, because on the contrary his mind is reeling for how fast tables have turned - one second he is trying to not let the young man in his arms to undress him, fighting against a boner now sagging, and the next he's accused of being someone else. Also, now he feels a bit stupid for being so wrapped up around a person whose name he's not even sure if it's real or the one he uses for his performances - Obi-Wan lets his arms fall by his side and waits awkwardly for Anakin to do the same since he's still pressed between the other's body and the wall. 

  
But Anakin doesn't - he bursts out laughing like he's just heard the best joke of his life and when he puts his forehead on Obi-Wan's shoulder, the Jedi can feel, rather than see, his shoulders shake. "Of course" he repeats once and then twice, "of course, you're not the Duke - what are the odds of a hot stranger being the right person for once?" he mumbles, talking to himself, joviality giving way to a bitter resignation. 

  
Obi-Wan vaguely takes note that the small, stinging sensation he's felt for the last few moments almost dissolves on the whole at the part where he's described as a hot stranger, but the reason is not really known even to himself so he refuses to dwell on it more than necessary. Instead he tries to keep his focus on Anakin and the way the Force is bending around him in manner that Obi-Wan doesn't consider wise. Wondering if it's the case to touch him or say something, time for deliberation runs out and every possible attempt is swept aside by a double knock on the door.

  
Anakin bolts upright like he's been electrocuted and his widened eyes shift between the door and Obi-Wan, panic written in his beautiful features as he understands something. "You have to hide" he hisses quietly, searching through the room for a viable hiding place and Obi-Wan, who is about to say that he won't do it, can pinpoint the exact moment Anakin finds one and makes up his mind. "Quick, under the bed, I'll get rid of him" he says, finally disentangling himself. 

  
"Over my dead body" Obi-Wan deadpans, straightening his rumpled tunics. No way. 

  
"It's either that or a jump out of the window" Anakin replies, sarcasm filling every single word.

  
"I'll take the second."

  
Obi-Wan is making his way to the window, seriously preferring it as option - he's only three stories up - but Anakin grabs his forearm, stops him and looks at him as if he's just sprouted other two heads next to the one in the middle. "What? No. Someone will see you climbing out of my room" he says after a brief pause during which he must have come to the conclusion that Obi-Wan was indeed telling the truth. 

  
Another knock coming from the direction of the door and the increasing sense of alarm rolling from Anakin in waves take the decision for Obi-Wan - sighing, he goes to crouch down behind the bed, refusing to feel like a character of those awful holodramas that Bant and Quinlan force him watch with them from time to time. This doesn't prevent him to feel a complete, utter stupid again, while he sees Anakin putting on a shirt, combing his air with a hand without particular results and then disappear to open the door. 

  
"Duke" Obi-Wan hears him greet nervously with a saccarine tone and then tunes out the conversation entirely, hoping that whatever Anakin has in mind, it will be quick. 

  
It's ridiculous that he has to hide - no, actually, everything from the moment he's stepped in this blasted place has been beyond ridiculous. He almost had sex with a boy, maybe a slave, met not twenty minutes before as result of a case of mistaken identity, in the upstair room of a cantina that, he supposes, serves also as brothel, during a mission, while his Master is somewhere downstairs doing their job; and as if this isn't enough already, the only thing standing between himself and this Duke are a bed and the lying skills of said boy. Scratch the thing about holodramas - not even in there the situation would be so absurd. Probably, in a couple of years, he will laugh about it and it will be a fun story to tell to his own Padawan, but for now it's just a disaster and headache material. 

  
A fit of fake coughs unveils Anakin's master plan, but with the promise of seeing each other very soon, it seems to be successful: the door closes and they are alone again. Without waiting a moment longer, Obi-Wan gets to his feet. 

  
"Watto is so going to kill me this time" Anakin is saying, with a small sigh, but all in all, he doesn't sound remotely worried. Running a hand through his hair, he pushes off the door and flops down heavily on the bed, a graceless heap of limbs in stark contrast with the way he's esecuted that same action not even ten minutes earlier - it feels like a lifetime ago. "So, now do you wanna tell me who you are and why you're in my room?" he asks, casual, with the same tone of someone asking about the weather. 

  
Obi-Wan would probably be more affected by the awkwardness of the circumstance if it wasn't for the fact that the young man in front of him seems like a different person now that he's not trying to seduce him, which is ludicrous because they don't know each other, at all - kissing and groping don't constitute familiarity or even acquaintance. "I told you before - we need to discuss something" he answers, clearing his throat and keeping out of the way the mental images of last time he's said these words - _I'm not going to touch that bed with a ten foot pole_ , he thought at Anakin's invitation of joining him to be more comfortable, and well, he kept his word because he's only hid underneath, next to a lone sock and, strangely enough, a piece of metal resembling the arm of a droid and a set of tools. 

  
A scoff. "You did a great job" Anakin comments, falling back on his signature smirk, teasing and playful, the one that, even now, does not fail to go straight to Obi-Wan's stomach. 

  
Maintaining his composure, Obi-Wan smoothes down again the rumpled clothes in reflex and then, hands tucked inside the sleeves of the tunic, has to admit defeat. "You're right" he says, assuming that Anakin is talking about the spectacularly failed attempt at explaining him the reason of his presence and not some innuendo about what actually happened later. "That's why it would be better if you spoke directly with my Master" he continues, nodding. Yes, Qui-Gon is undoubtedly the more suited choice between them to lead this conversation - Obi-Wan should have left the job to him without trying anything and if a voice inside his head tells him that this has been his plan all along but failed, well, patience, he'll think about it later.

  
"Your Master?" Anakin echoes, emanating a series of conflicted sensations, most of which seems to merge into a deep, clumsy repressed repulsion. "So, you're not a Jedi" he says, not bothering to conceal a new once-over that this time, though as thorough as the previous one, is more calculated and cold, as if he's expecting to find the confirmation of his statement on Obi-Wan's body somehow. 

  
Obi-Wan doesn't have the full-on certainty of Anakin's status as a slave and he's never met one before to recognise proofs, assuming there are indeed visible evidences, but he supposes that the surge of emotions at the mention of a master kind of support his hypothesis. Not wanting to jump to hasty conclusions and upset the younger man, he keeps quiet about the topic. "I'm still an apprentice, he's teaching me" he explains, trying and succeeding in locating the Jedi Master through the Force in the meantime - he's waiting outside. 

  
Anakin merely hums in response, seemingly unconvinced. "But you get to use the lightsaber?" he asks, displaying the same excited eyes as any youngling at the Temple when they see a real lightsaber for the first time. 

  
Though amused by the analogy, Obi-Wan nods and hastens to change the subject because he knows first-hand that the next question involves either a practical demonstration or the chance of wielding it himself. "He's waiting outside" he says, hoping in a good conclusion of this long night. 

  
"Yeah, but I'm not going anywhere" Anakin says, leaning back on his elbows and never looking away from Obi-Wan, who must project his frustration - though his shields have never been more tight in place due to his connection with his Master and the heated nature of his previous activities - because he resumes: "don't make that face, why should I follow you after the stunt you pulled? Pretending to be someone else and talking about blood? I don't even know your name, yet" he adds the last part after a brief pause as if knowing the name would change anything. 

  
For the second time in a span of maybe twenty minutes Obi-Wan's mind-blown at the hand of the same person, though for two different reasons. He's starting to regret his input of landing on Tatooine - they should have listened to Captain Panaka and risk a terrible death in the unforgiving space. "I didn't pretend to be someone else--"

  
"You just wanted to get a free ride out of it" Anakin cuts in, seemingly unscathed by the eventuality, but putting on a weird expression made of a large, thin-lipped smile and a chill, piercing stare. 

  
The red that seems to be a default tone for the night starts to creep over Obi-Wan's cheeks and neck at an alarming speed, failing to keep in check the capillary vasodilation. How did he manage to get involved in a situation like this? Not thinking, that's how. Or at the very least, letting drop the fact that he didn't know what was going on very low in the list of his priorities. This is exactly the kind of predicament someone like Quinlan would put himself in and come out with his dignity still intact. He can almost see him doubled over in laughter - not that the Kiffar Padawan will ever come to know of this, Obi-Wan will make sure to bring it with him on the funeral pyre. But maybe now thinking like Quin could be useful: what would he do? Or rather, what would he not do? 

  
"Look, I'm really sorry for what happened. I could and should have handled it better and I know you have no reason to trust me, but believe when I say that I've never had any intention of misleading you or getting advantage of you like that" he apologises, struggling to maintain eye contact and hoping that Anakin's abilities as Force sensitive may help him to perceive the sincerity in Obi-Wan's voice and that he's not admitting his guilt just as ruse to agree meeting with Qui-Gon. 

  
Anakin doesn't spare a single instant to give the words a thought. "Hot and a gentleman, can you believe my luck?" he says, again more like talking with himself rather than Obi-Wan, who feels more and more at loss for the way Anakin seems to be unreadable. "Fine, let's meet with this teacher of yours" he concedes after a small pause and a sigh, and ironically enough as if he could read Obi-Wan's mind just fine instead, adds: "what are the odds of someone blushing as much as you do being a psychopath" phrasing like a question but sounding anything but. 

  
Obi-Wan is reduced to thank the Force for his already flustered features because this might have been worthy of a new wave of redness. Then he thanks Anakin. 

  
Without further ado they both prepare to leave: Obi-Wan wears the grey monstrosity, managing to not think much about the process that led to taking it off, while Anakin slips a pair shoes on and a light jacket in a fabric similar to the tunic of a Jedi but definitely better suited for the suffocating heat and the eventual colder nights of the desert. 

  
Once out of the room, the younger man takes the lead - instead of going towards the stairs, they continue along the corridor, getting past door after door, a couple of which are definitely being used for the purpose they are intended, the music coming from the two floors below barely drowning out explicit noises. Obi-Wan adamantly buries the treacherous thought that they were on the same path too. 

  
Behind the door they get through is a sort of storage room - low-ceiling, packed with old costumes and equipment, stuffy smell - where a small window serves as only source of light, albeit dimmer then the other. When Anakin approaches it and the intent is clear, Obi-Wan can't help it. "I thought windows were off limits." 

  
Anakin grins. "Mine yes, because it's on the front" he explains, sitting on the windowsill, one leg dangling over the ledge. "This one, as you can see, faces a lovely scrap yard. I know what you're thinking - romantic view for a place like this" he adds, tone undoubtedly sarcastic, while the other leg joins the one already outside. Lifting himself up on the arms, he moves with practised ease, sign that's not the first time he's done this. 

  
Obi-Wan, who could simply jump and smooth the fall with the Force, just follows his lead. "No, I was actually thinking if it's reason for the arm under your bed" he says, quietly, because even though no one is around, they're still sneaking out of a building. 

  
Directly under him, Anakin laughs softly. "That's Threepio's, my droid - I fix him in my spare time."

  
"You know how to fix droids?" Obi-Wan asks, curious, avoiding to think about the spare time from what. 

  
A dull thud signals that Anakin is with his feet on the ground. "I can fix everything" he answer, truthful, with the right amount of pride and not the complacent flaunting he's been showing from the beginning. "Learning a thing or two about circuits and engines was inevitable - the owner of this place runs a junk shop too and I grew up there" he offers and this time the energy around him is less perturbed.

  
With a small jump, Obi-Wan lands next to him. "I know, our ship needs repairs and he has parts."

  
Anakin clutches the piece of fabric over his heart in a dramatic manner that couldn't be more fake if he tried. "And here I thought you were here for me" he teases, beaming. 

  
Against his will to remain impassible, the pursposeful, poor acting skills more than the joke gets a tiny smile out of Obi-Wan, who is considering for the first time the possibility that the Force guided them on Tatooine for a reason and that the reason is the boy before his eyes. He's not really sure how - it's still too late to train him - but he's more than willing to trust the Force and Qui-Gon's judgement. 

  
Reached the front face of the building, Obi-Wan tugs again his and Qui-Gon's bond in the Force to inform him of their location. It's hard to figure out whether the meeting with the Toydarian went well because, though not being a traditional Master and with fame of being a maverick, Qui-Gon has always been closed off to his apprentice, understandably opening up occasionally when it's been strictly necessary. Most of the time Obi-Wan manages to understand him out of experience and cohabitation.

  
"What took you so long, Obi-Wan?" he asks, after a quick, satisfied glance in Anakin's direction. Padmé, Jar Jar and the astromech reunited. 

  
Concealing any form of nervousness with the help of the Force, Obi-Wan says: "we've had a minor inconvenience, but it's settled now", schooled expression and truth sealed behind impressive walls. 

  
Though hyper-aware of any possible shift in the Force, a touch on his elbow catches him out of guard nonetheless. "I wouldn't say minor, Obi-Wan" Anakin says, probably sounding like the epitome of innocence to someone else's ears, but not to Obi-Wan's because combined with the way he pronounces his name, in a thick, lilting accent went unnoticed until then, seems like a detailed recounting of their brief encounter in the dark room. 

**Author's Note:**

> Be merciful, please.


End file.
